


Coming of Age.

by Lanna Michaels (lannamichaels), valuna



Series: Born To The Life [3]
Category: British Actor RPF
Genre: M/M, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-11-16
Updated: 2003-11-16
Packaged: 2017-10-07 17:48:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/67626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lannamichaels/pseuds/Lanna%20Michaels, https://archiveofourown.org/users/valuna/pseuds/valuna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The time is the late 1700s, the place is the vampires' ancestral keep in northern Yorkshire, Dominic is about 100 years in the dark, mired somewhere in vampadolescence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coming of Age.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is a story about vampires. Since we all know vampires don't really exist, then the characters can't be based on real people since those people can't be vampires in a world where such creatures don't exist. We personally don't know anything about these people's lives. Don't care to. In other words, it's fiction, folks, the product of overworked imaginations.

"Be useful and fetch Daddy a drink."

"What you want? Beer or blood?"

"Beer. Two drops of yours. Peter, what will you have?"

"Usual."

"Right, then. One beer for Da, a whiskey for Unca Peter. And I'll slice my wrist while I'm in the kitchen."

"Good boy. Oh, and get Marton his usual as well. He'll be dropping by later."

"Ya can't fix Marton's ahead of time. He'll have to do it himself."

"You tell him that."

"I'll be happy to." Dom heads off into the kitchen. "Not a problem."

Peter looks up from the sofa, which he has consumed, legs stretched out against one armrest, head on the other. "Dominic's the only one of us who gets pleasure out of telling Marton off."

"He likes to reap the benefits. He's insane, that's what he is."

"I heard that," Dom shouts. "I'm not."

"Get my drink, boy, and then we'll discuss the lack of sanity bred into you."

Within moments, Dom is coming back into the room, beer in one hand, whiskey in the other and blood oozing from his wrist. "Here," he says, holding the beer out to Peter. "Did you want blood, too?"

Peter half-sits up, just enough to get the beer and position himself so he won't spill it down his shirt. "Sean first, then come back over here."

Dom just smiles and turns to Sean. "Your beer, Da." He holds out the beer in his right hand and then extends his bloodied left wrist. "And me."

Sean takes the mug in his left hand and catches his son's wrist in his right. He brings Dominic's wrist to his lips and passes his tongue over the blood. It's warm and familiar and very much alive.

Dom shivers. "Da, do that again." Licks his lips. "Before you suck it."

"The boy's a hedonist, Sean." Peter laughs. "He enjoys the sensation as much as the act."

Sean obliges his son, lingering more this time, pressing his tongue down into the knife wound. "And the sensation is good, isn't it, Dominic?"

"Yes, sir. Excellent. Almost better than sex."

Sean chuckles, knowing the vibrations will run up Dom's arm and then down to right where he wants it. "You're just saying that so I'll do it again."

Dominic drops to his knees in front of Sean. "Please. Don't stop." He rubs his head against Sean's leg.

"This could get interesting even before Marton comes home," Peter says as he swings his legs off the sofa and sits upright.

Sean gives an indulgent sigh. "Very well." He licks up all the blood from Dom's wrist, then pulls back, waiting for it to well up again.

Dominic works his free hand over Seans thigh, pressing thumb along the inseam of the leather pants. "Sean, will you?" The question trails off as Marton's voice interrupts.

"Will he what?" Marton asks as he leans over Sean's chair.

"Dom, get Marton his drink," Sean orders, then turns his attention away from his son. "He's giving me his blood. I think he wants mine in return."

"He could bloody well get it himself," Dominic mutters as his wrist is dropped, obviously unhappy at the sudden loss of attention. He stands, though, and traipses off to retrieve the absinthe.

"See," Peter says, taking another long swig of his beer. "He gets off on it. I'm telling you."

"Marton, how did things go with the Earl?" Sean licks the blood off his lips and then takes a swallow of his Newcastle. The tastes blend beautifully.

"Fine. He's agreeable to the plan. Now." Marton looks confused, an expression that doesn't sit well on his face. "Did I miss something? You fuck with Dominic's mind?"

"He gets your drink and then he gets to piss you off. Pete and I get to watch."

Dominic came back into the room. He sat on the table a bottle of wormwood, a bottle of vodka and a glass. "Here. Enjoy."

"Pour it for him, Dominic," the name rolls of Sean's tongue like a title. He likes the way it sounds, the way it flows, the click at the end. "Have some respect."

"No." Dominic smiles. "I can't imagine it's too hard for you to make a drink, Marton."

"Oh, shit." Peter gulps his whiskey and stretches back out on the sofa. "I don't think I want to be awake for this."

"It's nothing you've never done to him. And it's good entertainment."

Marton takes the few steps to Dominic's side in silence. He towers over the boy, so it's easy to intimidate with sheer size. "Dominic, I don't know what amusement Sean and Peter have in their," he pauses, looking at both of them, "bizarre little minds, but you will make my drink and then you will serve it to me on your knees. Do you understand me?"

"Entertaining." Sean salutes them with his bottle. He glances sidelong at Peter. "How long do you think it'll be before they're shagging?"

"No, I won't. I'm not your servant, Marton." Dominic stares up at Marton's face, not breaking eye contact. He tries to turn the tables. "Perhaps, though, if you convince Sean to give me what I want, I might reconsider."

"They're bringing you into this, Sean."

"I noticed," Sean growls.

"What is exactly that you want of him, Dominic? Something so prized it's worth incurring my wrath over a drink?"

"Yes. I want him to feed me."

"I already fathered you. What more do you want from me?"

"You know, Sean." Peter pours the last of the beer down his throat. "You know very well what he wants. And it's amazing he hasn't asked before now."

"Daragh would be on my side." Sean leans back into the oversized chair. "Marton, Peter, you've both had it. Tell him it's nothing special."

Marton turns, glares at Sean. "You're asking me to lie to your son. I've taken him to bed. He's not naive. Nor stupid." Marton turns back to Dominic. "Except for bringing it up now and not making my drink. You will pay for that, you know."

"I know. Was expecting to." Dominic can't help but smile.

"Bloody hell, Marton, I've had it. It's nothing special."

"Then why won't you let me have it? Why do you persist in treating me like a child? I'm not." The smile was infectious, the slide of tongue so familiar. "Marton can tell you that. Daragh, too, if he was here."

"When you were a child, I gave it to you. There's no reason for you to have it now. You don't need to grow. You don't need first blood. You're independant, Dominic, and you should damn well act it."

"Yes, I'm independent. And I want your blood." He drops to his knees in front of Sean again. "I want you to fuck me and feed me and let me drink from you."

"No."

"Why not?" Tone indignant. "I'm not any different from your brothers. Or mine."

"He has a point, Sean," Marton says. He pushes Peter upright on the sofa and commands a portion of it, sprawling into the seat, legs spread in front of him.

"I haven't given blood to any of your brothers after they become adults, Dominic, and you know it. I'll fuck you, I'll bite you, but if you want my blood, you're going to have to give me something of equal worth in return."

"Don't offer," Peter starts, lunging forward on the sofa.

"Ask and it's yours," Dominic says, cutting his uncle off.

"Too late." Marton pulls Peter back down. "No turning back."

Sean grins broadly. "Peter made this same mistake once, Dominic. You should have listened to him. You know all about blood price, don't you? If you're starving, if you need it so badly you won't survive another day, we're obliged to give it to you. But there's the price, once you're weaned."

"I don't care." Brash, intense. Dominic kneels up between Sean's legs, pushing in where he's not being turned away from. "I want you. And no price is too high."

"God, was I that ingratiating?" Peter asks Marton, who's starting to nibble at his neck.

"No. You knew what you were getting into. You just didn't care. Marton, you've left a huge gap in his education."

Marton turns his head against Peter's shoulder, looks over at Sean. "No, I didn't. He understands what he's doing. Sean, he's always paid my price. Yours won't be that much different."

Sean triangles his fingers and assesses his silent son. "What did Marton have you do, Dominic?"

"He demanded my," Dominic says, his voice dropping as he answers, "submission. Complete, no questions asked."

"You don't seem to be giving it to him. He told you to do something and you haven't done it. That doesn't endear me to trusting your word."

"Very specific submission, Sean," Marton says, still nipping at Peter's neck. "Drinks weren't covered."

"Then what was?"

"Sex." Dominic bit his lower lip. "Anytime, anywhere, anything. Can't say no." Sucked it in. "I'm his."

"I can't really see you ever saying no." Sean turns his attention away from Marton and Peter to study his son. "Even in the middle of Trafalgar Square."

"Well, I'm my father's son. What'd'cha expect?" Dominic smiles, a cheeky grin.

"So why that?"

"Cause it's something only he can ask of me."

"Marton?"

"Yes. Makes me special. Nobody else in the house commands me like that."

"It was his only option, Sean," Marton says, voice calm. "He'd refused me once. And you know I don't take no for an answer twice."

"I'm impressed that he said no once. Losing your touch, brother."

"Be glad I didn't just strangle him." Marton laughs.

"There is that," Sean agrees. "So how long did it take you to convince him?"

"A day and a night. In the North Tower." Dominic's squirming as Marton talks. "Boy came to love it."

"So, what's your price, Da?" Dominic interrupts, obviously impatient.

Sean kicks him hard. "Someone needs to learn his place in this household."

Dominic doubles over at the pain. "I know my position," he spits out. "I'm your son."

"Yes, you are. And do sons ever interupt their father's conversations?"

"Well, it shouldn't matter what Marton asked of me. I want to know what you want."

"Have you ever taken the price, Dominic?"

"Huh?" Dominic straightens out. "You mean do what Marton says?"

"Have you ever given blood when you didn't want to?"

"Not since I was old enough to hit my brothers back."

"Then how do you know that it doesn't matter what Marton asked of you?"

"That's not this is about." Dominic's voice raises, irritation leaking through. "You're not going to take my blood without asking. I wouldn't try to take yours. Just tell me your goddamned price."

"And if I gave you the exact same price as Marton did, what would you do if we both asked at the same time? Bloody fool."

"You'd want the same thing?" Dominic's anger seems to slide into bemusement. "I'm sure Marton wouldn't mind."

"You don't speak for him, Dominic."

"Why not? He's my lover. Anyhow, I was just saying he wouldn't mind sharing me. And I know he wouldn't. Done it before."

"He is not your anything. You may be his, but he is never yours." Sean glares at Dominic. "Understand, child?"

"Sean, the boy mispoke. He's using the term as a child would," Marton says, moving to sit upright on the sofa's edge. "Hold your temper."

"No, I'm not," Dominic says, voice nearing a shout. He glares just as intently at his father. "Marton is mine, and I am his. That's what the bond means."

"The boy isn't doing very well in charming his father out of his blood." Peter notes, and slides an arm around Marton's waist, pulling himself up. "Leave them to it. I want you for myself right now."

"No, he's not." Marton doesn't stop Peter's hands, but doesn't give into them either. "Part of the reason I enjoy him. He's as stubborn as his father."

"His father would have resorted to a blowjob by now. Dom's still shouting."

"Should've made that move. He gives 'em as good as his father. Peter, could you move your hand just a little to the left?"

Peter obliges. "Think Sean'll actually do it?

"Will you two shut the bloody fuck up?" Dominic screams, turning around to face Marton and Peter. "You're not doing a goddamned thing to help me."

"We're supposed to?" Peter squeezes Marton's cock through his pants. "Could have fooled me."

"You're supposed to." Dominic points at Marton, his face curled in a frown.

Marton jerks at Peter's touch, shifts. "No I'm not," he says to Dominic. "This is between you and Sean. You chose to take him on."

"Man has a point, Dominic. You entered the lion's den. Now you have to deal with the lion." Peter runs his finger along Marton's bulge. "Come yet today, brother?"

"Not nearly enough," Marton mutters, slinking back against the sofa's cushions. "Don't let me stop you."

"Fine. To hell with all of you." Dominic starts to stand up.

"Down, boy," Sean orders. "I'm not done with you yet. Do you think you can just leave whenever you want to? It doesn't work like that."

"I can do what I damned well please." Dominic doesn't drop back to the floor, but straightens up. "You said it yourself, Da. I'm independent. So I'm acting it."

"As long as you live in my household, you obey my rules. If you don't want to, move out. So get back on the fucking floor."

"Or what? You'll send me to my room without supper? Already ate."

"Don't test me on this, boy. Don't."

"Forget it, Da. I decided I don't need your blood badly tonight. Maybe when you settle on a price, I'll be in the mood again."

Peter's the only one facing the door so he's the only one who looks up when he sees a large figure approach the threshold. "Daragh. How nice to see you. I'm just about to fuck Marton."

Dominic has turned his back on Sean and is heading for the door. "Don't expect you to agree with me, either," he says, looking up at Daragh.

"Agree with what, Dom?" Daragh asks, standing just inside the threshold. "Peter, got here in time for the fuckin'? Good. Hate t've missed that."

"Just in time. Care to join us? Marton needs to be sandwiched. I'm thinking Sean could take the front, I'll take the back, and you could have either of us."

"Sounds t'me like a mighty fine plan. Dom not playing? Sure we could find the boy a spot."

"Don't talk to me about Dominic. He is about to get himself thrown out." Sean crosses the room and kisses Daragh. "Where've you been?"

"Out shooting. What'd the boy do?" Daragh asks, but didn't give Sean a chance to respond immediately, returning the kiss with one more forceful.

"You won't throw me out," Dominic hisses.

Sean pulls back. "The boy has overstepped his place. Again."

"Awkward age," Peter says. "Wants independence, but thinks tantrums get response."

Daragh reaches out and blocks Dominic's exit with an arm across the door. "What'd'ya do?"

"Nothing. Not a damned thing."

"He called Marton his."

"Couldn't just throw a goblet 'cross the room? Break a sword on the hearth? You had to claim Marton."

"Dom isn't one to do things halfway," Peter answers wryly. "He merely claims Sean's favorite."

"He's not my favorite!" Sean objects. "You all are. No, I don't have a favorite!"

"Not even Stuart?" Marton quips. "I do believe it's why we have so many orgies. Just can't decide on one of us."

"Move your arm, Daragh. Let me go?" Dominic pushes against Daragh's arm, which is wrapped around his shoulder, forcibly keeping him from leaving.

"Sean? What say ya?"

"We have so many orgies because I like fucking while being fucked. And Dominic isn't free to leave. Thank you for stopping him, brother."

"I'm not staying," Dominic shouts.

"You're not going anywhere, till Sean says so." Daragh tightens his grip, picking Dominic up in his arm. "Where you want him?"

"Since you're the only one that can hold him, I'd say over your lap. If you don't mind having him passed off onto you. If he's going to act like child, he should get treated like one."

"Fine by me. Needed a bit of a sit anyhows. Been on me feet all day in the field." Daragh carries Dominic, kicking and squirming, to the chair Sean had vacated and sat down. He puts Dominic facedown over his lap. "Now, be a good boy, Dom."

"No chance of that," Sean replies. "You have the hardest hand of any of us. Will you do the honors? From the way Peter is fidgeting, I think he wants to get on with the sex."

Daragh laughs. "Re'lize what you're gettin'?" He grabs the waistband of Dominic's breeches and yanks, tugging them hard enough to pop the lacings and pull them down.

"Fuckin' hell, you're not," Dominic protests, squirming against the rough and ragged stripping. "Da, you can't."

"I can."

"Damn right he can," Peter echoes from Marton's nipples. "Tell 'im, Marton."

"Hmmm. Yeah. Sure." Marton's responses are weak, his attention obviously focused elsewhere.

Sean smiles coldly. Daragh has the situation under control, but he can't resist a final jab. "Don't challenge me unless you're prepared to deal with the consequences, child."

Dominic's trousers are in near-shreds around his legs when Daragh's hand comes down on his ass. "Fuck."

Peter turns his head away from Marton's chest to watch the first stroke. "Nice."

Dominic's squirming stops abruptly as Daragh's hand lands on his ass. Not a bad sensation. Not that he likes spanking. No. "Not a child," he says flatly. "Don't need punishing."

"Sean says otherwise," Daragh tells him, warming Dominic's ass again. "And seems to me you're needing it."

"All I wanted was some blood." Dominic jerks, an involuntary response to the repetitive pain. "Da, c'mon."

Sean's on his knees at the couch's edge, running his hands over rough breeches. Marton's. Half off already under Peter's expert attention. "You overstepped your boundary, Dominic," he says, slurring out the words against Marton's arm as Marton wraps his hand up around Sean's neck.

Marton pushes Sean's head lower. "Brother...I need you."

Dominic's pout turns to whimpers, as much in response to the burning sensation on his ass as from watching Marton force Sean down. It's what he wanted. To please his father, make him come, drink from the femoral artery. "Mar," he gets out before Daragh's hand lands again, even harder than before.

Despite how angry he is, Sean knows that Marton has a soft spot for the young brat. If Dominic pleades, Sean knows it will all be over. Sean grasps Peter's hand and, almost as one, Peter bites down on Marton's nipples and Sean takes him in his mouth and begins to suck.

"No help there, boy," Daragh says. "I believe Marton's gone." Daragh shifts Dominic slightly, just enough to increase the rub of Dom's cock against the leather of Daragh's coat. He brings his hand down again, striking deadcenter on Dom's ass.

Dom jerks at the force, cock rubbing against rough brown leather and his uncle, and his face burns from embarrassment. He's a vampire! He gives pain, he doesn't enjoy taking it!

Marton's oblivious to Dominic's whimpers, too caught up in being sucked and bitten. Sean's being careful, too exacting, in making sure Dominic sees every move he makes, sees just how he's undoing Marton, taking him to the edge.

Peter licks at Marton's chest, turning his face to catch Dominic's gaze. "See, Dom, how he responds to Sean's touch. Beautiful thing, the arousal. I'm sure you feel it."

Dominic's reply is muffled in a scream of pain. Daragh strikes repeatedly, hard and fast over already welting flesh. "Marton. Da. Please." Words rasped out between the force of blows. The scent of blood bathes the room with an earthy copper odor.

Marton hears Dom's cries in the back of his mind, but they won't register until later. Right now, he comes down Sean's throat and collapses into the couch.

Sean pulls off of Marton, turns and settles onto the floor, back against the couch between Marton's legs. "Daragh, that's enough." He sniffs the air. "Blood drawn. Unexpected. But nice." He's hard, achingly so, and Dominic is about where he needs to be. "I believe the boy's nearly learned his lesson."

Daragh pauses, hand in midair, then shrugs and lets it fall gently. He rubs Dom's ass slightly, feeling the heat, spreading the blood. "Almost desperate, he is." Daragh pats the boy approvingly.

Dominic pulls away, half-falling, half-pushing himself off Daragh's lap onto the floor. He's in pain, not just from the beating. His cock's as swollen as his ass and his temper is flaring in anger and anguish and a dozen other emotions. He looks up, swallows hard at the sight before him.

"Desperate? Really, Dominic?" Sean spreads his legs and unfastens his trousers enough to give his cock a bit of freedom. "Enough to crawl on your belly for me?" He slides his hand around his erection, flicks thumb over its head. "Is this what you wanted?"

Dom's mesmerized by the sight. He's wanted it for so long and Sean might just now give it to him. Anything, he'd do anything. "Yes," he whispers.

Peter looks from father to son and rubs the bridge of his noise. This wasn't what he had thought would happen when he asked Dom for a drink, and from the way Daragh was staring at Dominic's ass, Peter would be the one left out. "Sean," he mutters, "when this is all over, I'm fucking you so hard you won't be able to sit down."

"No argument from me, Peter." Sean never takes his eyes from Dominic. "Crawl, Domini," he says, slurring the "c" off his son's name, a loving affectation, "and I'll feed you."

Dom nods and presses his face to the floor. 'On your belly'. He inches his way forward on fingertips and by pushing his knees backwards. The floor is stone and crawling hurts, but the journey is worth it.

"Now that's a right pretty sight," Daragh drawls. "Boy on his stomach, arse ripe and bloodied."

Marton's slowly getting back in touch with reality, enough to register there's fresh blood in the air and he's hungry. He pulls Peter's wrist from where it'd been resting on his shoulder and bites without warning.

Peter yelps as Marton's teeth cut into his wrist and snatches his arm away. "Give me some warning!"

"Nice of you to join us again, Marton. Would hate for you to miss this." Sean's smiling, tongue slipping out to wet lips, slide over teeth. "Dominic's being such a good boy. C'mere." He beckons his son with motioning fingers. "Show me what Marton's taught you."

Marton watches through half-lidded eyes as his nephew gets shakingly up onto his knees and prepares to suck Sean. "He's good at it."

"Marton." Dominic looks up, past Sean's head, to Marton's face. "Want." He's conscious of his need for blood, the pain disseminating itself through his body, turning sharp twinges into dull aches the radiate pleasure. He reaches out one hand to brush against Marton's leg as he edges the other along Sean's thigh.

"Dominic." Sean's voice. Crisp. "You will not talk to Marton. Nor touch him. He is off-limits until I say otherwise."

Dominic whimpers at the orders, but removes his hand. He lowers his eyes from Marton's hungry look and rests his head on Sean's knee. His fingers are laced behind his back and he's very careful not to rest his aching ass on his legs. "Please, da."

"Very good, Dominic. Now show me you know who's in charge of this house." Sean leans back, settles his arms over Marton's knees. "Suck, don't bite. And you might want to use your hands to brace yourself," Sean pauses, "since I think I'll let Daragh fuck you."

"Sean, don't ..." Marton's voice is uncharacteristically soft, and he doesn't finish the thought as he's pulling off Peter's wrist, blood dripping from his mouth.

"Quiet, Marton," Sean says, just as softly. "It'll be alright." He sucks in a breath as Dominic's mouth envelops his cock, quick, searing moist heat. "I'm sure Dominic can handle us."

Dominic agrees with Sean, but doesn't dare do anything but bob his head. He sucks gently, swirling his tongue around the head, doing every trick Marton's ever taught him. He wants to make his daddy proud.

Sean runs his hand through Dominic's hair. Doesn't tug or push. Just lets it stay there, a subtle reminder. "Very good, Domini," he says as Dominic's tongue presses and pulls back along the underside. "Someone's taught you well."

Dominic resists the very persistent urge to look up at Marton. Sean didn't say he couldn't, but now that he actually has Sean's cock in his mouth, he doesn't want to do anythign to antagonize him.

Daragh settles in behind Dominic, runs his hand down Dominic's back and wraps his fingers around the boy's wrists. "That's not the halfa'it, Sean." He pulls Dominic's arms out and down, locks them with his hands against the floor. "There's a reason he's so loyal to our brother. Never gets outta his bed."

Dominic whimpers, wrist still not completely healed from the cut he gave himself in the kitchen. He presses himself as best he can into Daragh's touch, not letting even a centimeter of his father's cock out of his mouth.

"That explains why I can never find you." Sean rubs Dominic's head, twines his fingers in the hair. "And is he a good student, Marton?" Sean shifts his weight, backs up against Marton's legs. "A little harder, Domini," he says before turning his head back to his brothers on the couch. "I mean, from what I saw here tonight, he's rather disobedient."

"He can be good when he wants to be." Marton frowns. There's no emotion whatsoever in his voice. The last thing he needs right now is Sean to find out he's jealous. He'd never hear the end of it.

Daragh leans in over Dominic's back. "Are you ready, boy?" he whispers. " 'Cause I'm not in much mood for waiting." He presses his cock against Dominic's ass; it's hard and dripping precum. He doesn't wait for an answer, but pushes in, a single, rough thrust forward, using Dominic's leverage against Sean's body to brace the assault.

Only the fact that Marton usually does this to him twice nightly keeps Dominic from biting down on Sean at the sheer pain of Daragh's entry. As it is, he grunts and twists his fists, trying to gain control over himself.

Marton can't help but wince, no matter how much he doesn't want to appear emotional. He's been fucked by Daragh before, and it's never painless. "Remember what he likes, Daragh," he says, steeling his voice. "Hard and fast."

"Like brother, like son," Sean says. He palms Dominic's shoulders, splays his fingers and presses down, holding his son in place, mouth firmly on cock that is ready to explode and ass being filled by the eldest brother. It's a glorious place to be.

"Hard and fast, eh?" Daragh says, enunciating every word with a sharp thrust. How Dominic is staying steady, he'll never know. "How do you keep him so tight, brother?"

"I don't fuck him every night. That'd lose its appeal." Marton spits out the words, false as they are. It wouldn't lose its appeal. It couldn't.

Dominic can feel the tip of Sean's cock digging farther down his throat, nearly choking him. They're right; if not for Marton, he would be choking. He tastes the saltiness, the expectation, knows his father is close to releasing; claws his hands against the floor.

"You've been," Sean gets out through clasped teeth, the desire not to come until Dominic looks like he can't take anymore winning through. "Teaching him well." And in an instant Dominic reaches that point, slams his fist into the stone floor, chokes back the need to swallow. Sean laughs. "Now, Daragh, if you please." And they come, brothers filling the young vampire past the point of breaking, of being able to think or see or process any of the senses.

Peter watches, tightlipped. He's wrapped one arm around Marton's shoulder, and the other is relaxing the tension along Marton's lower back. Peter's tongue swirls in and out, intent on distracting his brother.

Marton's being distracted. Not enough, but it's a start. And when everyone's finished, he'll collect Dominic, take him upstairs and distract himself a little bit more. He smiles, rather proudly, as he watches Dominic take both Sean and Daragh, a first for the boy, a coming of age. And damned hot. He turns his head and jerks Peter to him, turning teases into a full-blown, bruising kiss.

Peter wraps his hands around Marton's head and pushes him closer, tongue battling with Marton's for dominance.

Marton gives in, letting Peter push him back. He pushes his hands between their bodies, struggling with fastenings and ties, wanting to be naked and writhing under his brother's touch.

Peter is not so gentlemanly as that. Growling a little, he rips off his shirt and hears the buttons bounce off into corners. "You. Are getting fucked."

"A promise, dear brother?" Marton follows Peter's lead, hastily undoing his shirt. He pulls himself up enough to get it off, toss it to the floor. "I want you. Now. Not your words."

"Then get your legs up over my shoulders and those pants off that tight arse of yours."

"Done." Marton raises his legs, pushes his pants down, smiles when a set of hands from off the couch moves to help. In no time, he's naked and waiting.

Peter rubs his cock a few times and lines himself up. "Ready, brother?"

"Do it already." Marton reaches up, grabs Peter's forearms and braces himself. "I can't be any more ready. Not after watching those three."

Peter toys with the idea of making Marton wait, but weighs it against fucking Marton until he screams. Fucking wins out.

"Gods, yes," Marton screams as Peter pushes into him, not caring for a second that it echoes off the stone in the great hall.

Peter grins. There we go. He stays inside for several heartbeats, just savoring the feel.   
Marton bucks up. "Damn you, Peter. Move."

"Don't think I will."

Marton sucks in a deep breath. "What?! Move. Now." He digs his nails into Peter's skin. "Or you will regret it later."

"Mm. Not a good idea to threaten the man you want to have do you a favor."

Marton's drawing blood, rivulets of it. "And it's not a good idea to start fucking your brother and not carry through." He pauses, a wicked grin coming over his face. "Although, if you're not up to it, I don't think Dominic got to come. Sure he'd be happy to take over."

"Bastard," Peter growls, jerks his legs towards Marton. "Lick it up, and then I'll fuck you."

"Happy to." Marton pulls himself forward, swipes out his tongue over the blood. Whimper slides into small moans as he continues. "You taste positively perfect."

Peter's breath catches. Oh, yes, that feels good. Better than good. Just about pretty bloody brillaint. "Narcissist," he manages. "Taste like you. Or are you already forgetting last night?"

"Hmm, I remember, Peter." Marton presses his tongue into the blood, sucks it into his throat. "Fuck me now." He looks up, licking the last of brotherly comingled blood off the corner of his mouth.  
Peter rolls Marton over a couple times, ending up on the floor. "Much better."

"Infiintely so." Marton clutches at Peter, pulls him in closer. Any jealousy or frustration or anger from earlier dissipates, sinking into the cold floor beneath them.

Peter sinks his fangs into Marton's bottom lip, needing to taste blood. Marton's deliciously warm under him and Peter wants some of that inside himself while he fucks his brother.

Marton would speak, utter praises of the highest magnitude to his brother and lover, if only he had the language skills. He's lost them, along with the ability to think coherently, as Peter takes everything out of him.

Peter's fingers encircle Marton's wrists and squeeze. He kicks Marton up almost onto hands and knees and repositions himself.

There is little Marton can do but allow Peter to move him, reposition, take him over and over again. He's needing to be controlled, consumed. "Peter." He hisses out his brother's name. "Please. Fuck. Me. Harder." Crisply enunciates words as his voice comes back to him, for fear if he doesn't, he won't get them out at all.

He wasn't looking for begging out of this, so Marton's words send an unanticipated thrill through him. Peter picks up speed as much as he can, hurting himself with the force of his thrusts. Fuck, Marton's so tight.

Marton's senses explode, mere seconds before his body unleashes its orgasm. He screams, a primal utterance of syllables from a language long ago unspoken.

Peter can't think anymore, is overcome with the animalistic urge to get more, now, need. Doesn't even realize it when he comes.

Marton's slowly dragged back to reality by a faint sound. Clap. Clap. Clap. He rolls his head over, the absolute most movement he can accomplish at the moment, and glares. Sean is sitting against the stone of the fireplace. Dominic's curled up in his arms. Daragh's standing, leaning on the mantle. All three are clapping. Soft, steady beats, accompanied by smiles.

"Bastards," Peter mutters. "Ignore them."


End file.
